I write everything

on a pink legal pad because this one time I read about a black-haired middle aged white woman
who lived in Manhattan and produced films and took all of her notes on pink legal pads, and the
photographs of her apartment looked so stylish, and whoever wrote that profile of her made everything
sound so glamorous, so I went out and bought a pack of pink legal pads for myself to seem like her, that rich woman with stringy black hair, and now I write everything on these pink legal pads even though they are the kind of thing that belongs with the woman who was a film producer or with someone reminiscent of Elle from Legally Blonde, but not with me (I am nothing like Elle; I haven’t the least desire to become a lawyer and spend half my days in a cold stone courtroom where justice will never be guaranteed, and how could I ever choose my career in a harsh act of hatred for an ex-boyfriend?) and what’s more is that the presence of these pink legal pads on my desk is distracting since I wouldn’t typically buy notebooks like that, which is sort of a disappointment, but it means that they’re out of place and don’t fit with my other belongings, except I’m not going to buy another type of notebook because I’m too afraid of overconsumption to buy that for myself and I